Homefront in Darkshore
by Badmunster
Summary: A Night Elf druid is called home from the Outlands by his brother. The recent attacks by the Scourge have hit home in Auberdine and Tarkahyanda must choose between his duties to the Cenarion Circle and avenging his family.


**The Homefront in Darkshore**

A breeze blew a blue strand of Tarkahyanda's hair into his eyes as he placed his antlered helm into his stormsaber's saddlebag. He tucked the strand back into his thin leather headband. He breathed deeply. The warm, humid air of Zangermarsh filled his lungs. It made him frown for the hundredth time with distaste for this place. Grunting with a soreness that had haunted him for the past year, he went into the inn and plopped himself on a seat.

"Coryth! Be so kind as to bring me a bottle of pinot noir?"

The inn looked like it was from home, but it wasn't. The structure was Kaldori, the wood carvings and furnishings seemed like any other Elven structure in Teldrassil or Auberdine, but the wood was different. It was neither soft evergreen nor hard deciduous. It was almost spongy, made from the native mushroom fauna of the marsh. To him, the inn was like everything else in Outland. Out of place. Wrong.

Innkeeper Coryth came over and with a bottle and glass. Under his arms was a stack of envelopes.

"Here you are, Tarkahyanda. You received some mail while you were gone." He gently placed the bottle and glass on the table before handing Tark the envelopes. "Good hunting? Keeping the Naga back?"

"Actually, I just returned from further north. Some sort of dragon cult. I don't remember its name."

Coryth raised an eyebrow. "You don't remember who you were fighting? That's unusual."

Tark grimaced as he poured himself a glass of the import from home. "Not really. I've lost track lately. The expedition sends me out on a mission, I do it. It's all the same."

As the innkeeper walked away and Tark drew his first sip of wine, he glanced around the inn. Alliance, mostly night elves, sat in groups on one side. The tauren of the Horde sat on the other. Yet another thing that felt out of place here. Sure, he admitted to himself, they were all Cenarions and had shared Moonglade for a long time now. But the whole atmosphere of Moonglade was one of harmony and calm. Here at Zangermarsh, it was a very different story. Frequent fights kept the peace of the Expedition in constant question. Even now, he knew the tauren were sizing him the night elves, just as the night elves were them.

Tark finished his glass and set it down while he opened his mail. Winterveil advertisements from Smokywood Pastures. Ugh. Already? A five gold note from the Darnassus Auction House for some Draenic Boots he had made. Was that all? An invitation to his guild's annual Hallow's End party. Well, it was too late for that.

He heard a bench scoot on the floor and looked up. A Tauren made his way to the inn door and looked outside, searching for something in the darkness. Tark refilled his glass and continued going through his mail. When he reached the last envelope, he raised an eyebrow. The return address read "Carakhyanda, Auberdine." His brother. He hadn't spoken with him since he had left home. He carefully broke the wax seal on the envelope.

Tark,

Come home. Something has happened to father.

Carak

Tark stared at the paper. He wasn't at all sure how to take the letter. "Something has happened." That sounded like bad. But wouldn't Carak have written something longer, something that explained the circumstances? Another thing bothered him. He had only seen his brother once in the past four years, and that was only briefly. Now in this letter, Carakhyanda was in no uncertain terms instructing him to come home. Carak was a hundred years younger and had never even thought of giving Tark an order before.

The sound of a growl interrupted his thoughts. A night elf and a tauren were standing in the middle of the inn staring each other down. Tark watched as the tauren began to sprout brown shaggy fur and his face a snout. Claws grew from the night elf's hands and his face became feline. Without missing a beat, several other druids began transforming into dire bears and panthers. A Tauren in one corner began molting feathers and raised his hand to call the familiar moonbeam spell. Everywhere staves were hoisted and spells readied. Tark saw the innkeeper Coryth duck down behind the bar. He himself closed his eyes and felt a long tail begin to grow on his backside.

"So much for the harmony of the Circle," he muttered.

The forests of Auberdine felt empty. Not a bird chirped. Not a moonstalker growled from the bushes. No insects hummed in his ear. Tark felt only a small breath of a breeze on his cheek. And yet, even the breeze felt dead. There was a faint odor of rot in his nostrils.

The port town of Auberdine had been quiet as well. Only Sentinels had stood along its paths, and fewer than usual at that. When Tark had stepped off the boat from Teldrassil, one such Sentinel had greeted him with a palm extended toward his face.

"Five paces back, druid, and no closer." The look on her had been stern, yet fatigued. Dark circles lined her eyes. Her pink ears drooped.

Tark had cleared his throat at the greeting. "Lady Sentinel, many times have I traveled through the old town of Auberdine and never was I accosted in such a manner. I am true night elf, a druid who has faithfully fought for these lands under the guidance of the ancient Circle of Cenarius. For what reason…"

"Tark! Stop your drivel and droodish language. It's me, Sofrasunay, if you didn't notice. Everyone has to be checked at the dock. No exceptions." Sofrasunay had closed her eyes and whispered a brief spell. A tingle shook through Tark's spine.

The Sentinel let her mouth turn up in only the slightest of smiles. "Ok, Tark, there's no plague on you. Welcome home."

And now he was here, in front of the Twisted Trees, where his grandfather's grandfather founded the family line in the early days. The journey to the ancient oaks hadn't been long, but with the feeling of death here in the land of his youth, every step had been difficult. Every pace closer to home increased his dread of what he was going to find when he opened the door.

The first of his bloodline was a druid, as he was now, and bore a great love for life and for the trees. So when he had found the three trees growing towards each other and twisting their trunks around each other as in a knot, he had known instantly where to build his home. The life force in these ancient plants had been so strong that no other place would do for the druid except among its boughs.

Four long generations later, Tarkahyanda stood in the middle of the trees' triangle. The rope ladder was up.

"Carak! Are you up there? Carak!"

As Tark looked toward floor of the house resting on the high boughs, he saw a small crack appear in the floorboards. His brother's voice called down.

"Tark, is that you?"

"Of course it is, brother. Did you think I wasn't coming home after that letter you sent?"

A pause. "I wasn't sure. I didn't even know if you'd be alive to receive it. Wait a moment and I'll let down the ladder."

An hour later, Tark and Carak still sat cross-legged across from each other, a nearly empty bowl of lukewarm tea between them. They had embraced in the way of elven men and Carak had helped Tark undo his armor. After that, they hadn't said much once Carak had finished his account of their father's death. Tark had been staring into his empty earthenware cup, bits of teaweed clinging to its sides.

"Did you bury him with our ancestors?" he finally asked, lifting his face toward his brother.

Carak looked pained as he answered. His eyes were still looking only at the floor. "No. There was nothing left to bury."

Tark swallowed hard. He threw his cup against the wall, hearing it break into scores of pieces. "No night elf should die like that. It's barbarous!"

"At least he didn't turn. At least he died as he had lived, a noble elf of the forest."

Tark stood up. "It shouldn't have happened at all! For the undead to…"

"Tark!" Carak's eyes lit with an anger all his own. "Don't you think I've been through all this in my mind? The plague hit. Its spawn killed father. He was old and too weak to defend himself. I'm only a novice hunter and I was only able to take down one after I came home and found them here. Maybe if you had been here, things may have turned out differently! So don't blame the situation. Blame yourself!"

Tark looked at his brother. He thought of a hundred things to throw back at him, but found none. All he could do was let out a dismissive grunt and sink back to the floor. "Do you think I asked for my assignment to the Outlands?"

"No, but you certainly didn't hesitate to obey your masters." The last word came out like venom. And there it was. Carak had always disagreed with Tark's decision to join the Cenarion Circle as a dedicated member. Many night elves followed their heritage by becoming druids. But not all became rank and file Cenarions. Tark had seen it as a duty to his people; Carak had seen his journeys to the battlegrounds of Silithus and the Outlands as abandoning his home.

"These are dangerous times, brother. Our race no longer lives in seclusion and cannot ignore the dangers across Azeroth. Such isolation would doom us in the end."

"So you've always said. But with all the skills and powers you've achieved, you could serve our people just as well here in Darkshore. It's not like you've been on the front lines either. Most of the silithids were beaten back years ago. And this Outland fodder… Illidan was slain long before you went through the Dark Portal. Meanwhile, the zombies..." Carak choked on his words. "You didn't see what they did to him! If you wanted to do some good, you'd go north and avenge our father against the Scourge!"

Tark sighed. "We all have our place, Carak. Mine is holding ground already taken. In all truth, I'm not strong enough for that fight. It's best left to others more skillful than I. Besides the Cenarion Circle has no expedition in Northrend. When they do, I promise I'll go."

The glare that Carak shot through his tears unsettled Tark. "In other words, you're just a coward hiding behind the orders of your beloved Circle. You've got no backbone! The Cenarions are corrupt and useless to us other than getting us involved in wars that have nothing to do the Kaldorei!"

The strength behind Tark's slap surprised even himself. He hadn't even realized that he had begun to shift into bear form until he saw the claw marks on his brother's face. He stopped the shift halfway and returned to true form. "I'm sorry, Carak, but you have no idea what you're talking about. You sit here at home and receive only a portion of the news that happens out at the fronts. If you want to do something about it, go to Northrend yourself. The demons of the Outlands are all too often in alliance with the Lich King's forces. Fighting them _is_ fighting the terror the undead as well."

"You're a bastard, Tark." Carak stood up and looked his brother in the eye. "Believe me, as soon as I'm able to receive qualification to go north, I will. In the meantime, you go ahead and kill Naga in the realms beyond and secure Zangermarsh and Shattrath and every other Alliance town not on Azeroth. In the meantime, I'll be avenging Father with every beast I slay. Leave this house and go earn your precious commendations for the Circle."

Time stood still as the brothers stared at each other in the House of the Twisted Trees. Finally, Tark broke the stare and put on his armor. He opened the trap door and looked below. It was dark now and he couldn't see the ground below. Turning one last time to look at his brother, he saw a mixture of sadness and anger swirling in his sibling's eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but found no words to say. He hoped he'd see Carak again, hoped that Carak would forgive him, even if he could never understand. And with that, he climbed the roped ladder back down to the ground.

"I'd like a bed for the night, and a glass of wine."

"Of course, druid."

Tark dropped some coin on the counter and slowly moved toward an empty bench near the stairs of the Fish Eye Tavern. He was moving in a daze. He had lost his father to death, and had perhaps lost his brother to nothing but a difference of opinion as well. The wine was the cheapest the inn had to offer, thick and bitter on his palette. It was not nearly the quality he usually preferred, but it was strong and would help drown the tragedies of the day.

As he stared into his cup, he felt a presence near him. He looked up and saw Sofrasunay sitting next to him.

"Ishnu alla, Sofra."

"Ishnu alla, to you as well, Tark. I apologize for receiving you as harshly as I did earlier, but there were a lot of passengers on that boat, and all of us Sentinels are run ragged with the additional security requirements on top of our regular duties." Sofra crossed her legs daintily and leaned on them for support. Tark could see that she felt the weight of the world on her shoulders. He knew how she felt. "The attack has left our numbers pretty thin. I'm sure your brother told you everything.

"He did."

"I'm sorry about your father. He was a good elf. One of the best."

Tark nodded silently.

"I was hoping you're homecoming would bring Carak out of his depression. I've only seen him once since the battle, and that was on patrol when we checked on your father's house. He hasn't been in town at all." She paused and narrowed her brow at Tark. "Speaking of which, why are you here? You should be at home with your brother."

Tark grunted. "He kicked me out."

"What?"

"We had a fight. It's that simple. There's not much more to say."

"I doubt that, Tark. What happened?"

He shrugged. "He blames me for being in the Outlands. He thinks I should have been here." Tark drained his cup. The alcohol felt good as it rushed to his brain.

"I see. I can't say I disagree with him. I've never been a fan of going there. We should have just closed the portal back up."

Tark chuckled scornfully. "That's easier said than done, Sofra. Anyway, I'm not going to argue this again. It's difficult enough being kicked out of my father's house by my own brother because of it."

"Of course." Sofra put a hand on his shoulder. "It isn't my business. There's more than enough fighting in this world caused by many. I'm not out to blame anyone."

"Carak says he's going to go north as soon as he can to avenge the bloodline. It's foolishness, if you ask me. He'll get himself killed."

"Oh, as if you haven't run that risk yourself?"

"It's different. I'm the oldest. I'm fighting so he doesn't have to."

"So you're going north, then?"

Tark turned and looked his childhood friend in the eye. "That's not what I meant. I'm going back to the Outlands with the morning sun."

"I see." The elf maiden softly brushed Tark's beard with her hand. "I guess I misunderstood. I never really did understand you, my friend. You can be so complicated, and at the same time, so stubbornly simple." Sofrasunay stood up. "Well, Tark, I need to go rest. There's an early morning ship coming in that I have to screen. It should arrive from Stormwind an hour after dawn."

Tark stood up with her. "A boat from Stormwind? The routes have changed since I've been gone."

"The Stormwind ship has been coming here ever since the Scourge began their attacks," she nodded. "The need to get volunteers to the north through the human capital has required changes. As soon as it drops off its passengers, it'll load up with volunteers from Kalimdor for the northern front." She winked. "Good night, Tarkahyanda."

Tark crossed his arm across his chest in salute, proper etiquette to a Sentinel of the realm. "Good night, Sofrasunay." Sofra returned the salute and walked with all the grace of a grown night elf female out the door, disappearing into the night. Tark stared at the door and found himself fingering a stone in his pocket. He pulled out the talisman and looked at it. It was a hearthstone, polished to a gleaming whiteness and covered with bright blue runes. A few rubs and the right words and he would again be in Shattrath, ready to secure the Alliance borders in the Outlands. The death of his father, the fight with his brother, his long-buried and painful love for Sofrasunay would all go away once there, caught up in fighting enemies that meant nothing to him. Escape in its purest form.

Escape. He knew deep down that that was exactly what he'd be doing. Again.

Tark looked at the hearthstone again, rubbed it once in silence, and returned it to his pocket. He walked over at the innkeeper, who was reading a book in apparently complete boredom.

"Pardon me," he asked her, "I'd like to request a wake-up call in the morning."

"What time?" she asked, not even looking up.

"Sunrise. I have a ship to catch."


End file.
